


Letters Never Sent

by flootzavut



Series: Next Time [5]
Category: MASH (TV)
Genre: Affairs, Angst, Episode: s01e17 Sometimes You Hear the Bullet, Epistolary, Extramarital Affairs, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Letters, Love Letters, M/M, Minor Character Death, Non canon suicide, POV First Person, Past Relationship(s), Prose and letters, Rage eats a chicken, References Canon Character Death, Sequel, Suicidal Ideation, Suicidal Thoughts, canon minor character death, nexttimeverse, queer, suicide of minor character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-29
Updated: 2018-07-02
Packaged: 2019-05-15 15:47:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 9,407
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14793392
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flootzavut/pseuds/flootzavut
Summary: It's stupid to pretend in a letter you won't get to read, isn't it?Letters written but not sent, in the Next Time 'verse.





	1. Hawk to BJ

**Author's Note:**

  * For [onekisstotakewithme](https://archiveofourown.org/users/onekisstotakewithme/gifts).



> Please note the tags!
> 
> I used who's writing to whom as chapter titles purely because I think it makes navigating the story easier.

* * *

_**Letters Never Sent** _

* * *

 

> Beej,
> 
> So you saved my life again, and I'm kind of pissed at you for it. You didn't even know I had those pills, let alone that I got rid of them. It's not fair to blame you, but I can't help it. I'm pissed. I'm so fucking pissed.
> 
> For a couple of minutes, when I was flushing them down the toilet, it was really freeing, it felt great. Like I'd made a good decision for once, and everything was going to be okay. I didn't think much beyond that at the time. I was high on doing what I'd promised you, then I was writing you and talking to dad, and it seemed like it was going to be all right.
> 
> It took a while for the reality of what I'd done to sink in, but eventually it did, and every day since then it's gotten bigger in my head. Now I can't stop thinking about it, and honestly, Beej, I'm scared. More scared than I've been since I got home. Maybe even more scared than I was in Korea. I'm terrified.
> 
> It'll probably sound crazy to you - or it would if I ever sent this letter, which I won't. I feel bad enough about you schlepping across the country once on my behalf; I'm trying very hard not to scare you into doing it again. (The next time you hear from me, I'm going to make sure it doesn't hurt you.) Bad enough that I'm scared without bringing you down with me.
> 
> If I told you, though, it would sound crazy. Maybe it sounds crazy because it is. But the thing you have to realise is, when I had those pills and the bottle of cheap gin... I felt like I had a choice. It was my backup plan.
> 
> I can imagine your face if I told you that. You'd be scared and horrified, and you wouldn't understand at all. Or at least, I think you wouldn't. (I hope you wouldn't.) It's the kind of thing that can only make sense if you feel trapped inside your head with so many bad thoughts and bad memories that you can't escape, and no longer existing seems like a valid option, even preferable, and God, Beej... I hope you never feel like that. I hope you never get locked up in something that dark. I wouldn't even wish that on Ferret Face Burns, ~~let alone someone I~~
> 
> It's stupid to pretend in a letter you won't get to read, isn't it? I'm an idiot, and no one is surprised. So here goes: someone I love. I love you I love you I love you. I'm wildly and irrevocably in love with you. Maybe if I write it enough times I can stop it spilling out by accident when I'm tired or overwhelmed. I love you. God knows it's hard enough to keep it to myself even in a letter. Damnit, I love you, BJ Hunnicutt. I never meant for that to happen.
> 
> I dearly hope you haven't been in that place, Beej. I really hope, for once, that you wouldn't understand at all, even though you usually do understand me and it's one of the many things I love about you.
> 
> So. Killing myself was my fucked up backup plan. Don't get me wrong, I know it was fucked up - I knew, even when I was setting it up. I'm not crazy enough not to realise I'm crazy. But it gave me a sense of... of control, I guess. Of having a choice, even if it was a fucked up choice. It helped. I know that sounds insane - maybe it is - but it really helped.
> 
> Now I feel as if I've been cut loose, and that's scary as hell. I'm torn, because the saner part of my brain knows it was a stupid idea, that having my own little suicide pact with myself sitting within easy reach was a foolish risk. I need to learn to get through the day without it, I know that. But part of what was getting me through the day was knowing I had the choice not to.
> 
> I don't know. It even sounds nuts to me when I try and explain the feeling. It wasn't exactly a complicated plan. Starting again from scratch wouldn't be difficult. It's not as if I couldn't get more pills, or take a knife to my carotid, or walk in front of a car. It would be easy.
> 
> I guess maybe I'm just scared of making decisions, of being trapped, of narrowing my choices. Even though death closes off choices more perfectly than anything else. We both know that. We've both seen it. So why is it still so goddamn tempting, Beej? What the hell is wrong with me?
> 
> I need to find a better way to keep going than that. I need to learn to go on because Dad needs me. Because you... need me? Or miss me, at least. I need to learn to get through the day because suicide is not a solution, because it doesn't actually solve anything. Because however bad I feel, doing that to Dad would be cruel. Because I said I wouldn't, and not breaking my word to you means everything to me.
> 
> So you saved my life again, because I promised. But fella, I'm so damn mad at you for it.
> 
> Hawk

* * *


	2. Daniel to Isaac

> Dearest Isaac,
> 
> I daren't send you this, but I need to write my quandary down. There are so many things stirring in me that I had managed to ignore for so long, that I truly thought were dead and buried. But they aren't, and that is both painful and strangely beautiful, and I don't understand it at all. (Or maybe I understand it too well, and that is why I am so afraid.)
> 
> You've rarely been far from my thoughts, especially since Adelaide died. You've been an anchor and a rock to me. It has always been a privilege to call you my friend, and yet it has always felt a little dishonest, too. What kind of friend does one always keep at a safe distance? What kind of friend does one remember with tears?
> 
> When I close my eyes, I can picture your face exactly, even though it's been so long since I last saw you. Your eyes, such a deep brown they're almost black. Your smile a flash of white, so bright against your dark skin. The way your whole face creases and lights up with your laughter. Your parents named you well.
> 
> It's strange to say it, but BJ reminds me of you, even though you look nothing alike. Maybe it's the smile, or that he looks at Ben the way you used to look at me. Or maybe it's his warmth.
> 
> I think you would like him very much. I certainly do. I can understand Ben's attachment, even after barely twenty four hours and that in my own home. Living with such a man in close quarters for two years, three miles from the front lines... Ben and his tender heart were no match for BJ. Just as I was no match for you.
> 
> I miss you, enough that sometimes it scares me a little. I managed to keep you at arm's length for so long by sheer force of will, but seeing Ben and BJ together has cracked something open in me I thought had healed over many decades ago. It was hard sometimes, but I thought I was being careful, that I'd managed to protect us both from the fallout.
> 
> Maybe our grasp lingered longer than most when we shook hands, maybe every time I saw you bought moments of painful nostalgia, but isn't first love supposed to hurt? Supposed to leave scars?
> 
> I've spent over half my life thinking I loved you long ago, that it was all in the past. I'm not convinced anymore. I'm starting to think it's simply that I fell in love with you and never quite managed to fall out again, in spite of my best efforts. Have I been fooling myself all this time?
> 
> I still love Adelaide, and she took herself away from us decades ago. It shouldn't be such a surprise that having you in my life, even if it's just letters and handshakes and smiles, would keep you in my heart as well. I suppose I don't fall out of love so easily.
> 
> I wish I knew how to tell you all this. I wish I knew if it was a good idea. Can two old men recapture something from so long ago? Is it foolish even to try?
> 
> I don't know. I just don't know. All I know is that I miss you, and I think... I think maybe I still love you.
> 
> Yours,
> 
> Danny

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Isaac" in Hebrew is usually translated to "He laughs"


	3. Hawk to Peg

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please note the tags!

> This was never meant to happen, Peggy, I swear.
> 
> I didn't mean to fall for anyone, let alone BJ Hunnicutt. I'm not saying I planned to hate BJ, but he was only there because Trapper left Korea, left me, and I missed Trap by ten minutes - ten minutes! - and I was fully prepared to resent the man who replaced him with every petty bone in my body.
> 
> Then I met BJ.
> 
> You don't need me to tell you he's a compassionate man, or that he's got an amazing smile. You don't need telling he's kind and an excellent doctor. Or that he's gorgeous. You've known BJ much longer than I have, in ways I never will.
> 
> I'd still like to tell you what it was like to stand shoulder to shoulder and back to back with your husband day after day. How much he cared for the boys who came in off the line. How much his heart broke over the Korean families who got caught up in all that ugliness. How hard he worked and how many lives he saved, and how he still found it in himself to grieve the losses.
> 
> How desperately he missed you and Erin. How much it ~~meant~~ means that somehow there was room in his heart for me. That he was a true friend to the pickled wreckage one cot over.
> 
> You don't need me to tell you he's wonderful, but I'd like to tell you anyway.
> 
> There are things I could tell you that you could never understand, because you weren't there. Because we were there and even we didn't understand. I don't want to bring any more of the war into your life than we already have.
> 
> I can write these things down but I couldn't tell you. It would be wrong to put that weight on your shoulders. It would be cruel to tell you about blood thick on my boots, about faces and brains blown away. About hoping for one kid to die quickly so we could save another. About having to choose between saving one young man's leg or another's life. No one should ever have to make choices like that, inside the OR or out of it. Triage is a terrible thing, Peggy. It's one thing to look at this or that patient and say who's hurt worse, who needs more immediate attention to save. It's another entirely to look at a kid who's barely eighteen and say it's impossible to save him so we won't even try.
> 
> I could never go back to that. I have night terrors and day terrors and afternoon tea terrors. I wonder if I'll ever leave it behind. The only time I've had a decent night's sleep in forever was when I was sharing a bed with your husband.
> 
> I wonder if he told you that. Do you know I crept into bed with him the night he came here? Do you realise it wasn't the first time?
> 
> Don't get me wrong, nothing ever happened. Sometimes I wanted it to so much it was all I could do not to start kissing him and hope he'd respond, but I couldn't... I couldn't do that to him, or to you. Not after seeing what it did to him when he fucked up. Shit, I shouldn't use words like that to you... I know I'm not gonna send this, but still. It's not polite, is it? Not to a lady.
> 
> I'm not polite. You should probably know that in advance. When I say I'm a screwup, that's an understatement. I was a little screwed up before I even went to Korea. Now I'm a mess of neuroses and insecurities and nightmares, tied up with shell shock and a crippling lack of self-worth.
> 
> (I'm starting to sound like Sidney. Any suggestion that I really understand what's wrong with me is testament to his treatment, not any insight of mine, and to his stubborn refusal to let me forget it all and pretend to be okay. I still don't know whether I love him or hate him for that.)
> 
> So I'm inappropriate and angry and scared. Which is one of the many reasons I should stay away from you and your family, even though it's also the best reason I have to come to San Francisco and try to get a little more sleep and the comfort Beej gives me without even realising it. Somehow, the war never hardened him, not really. He got better at hiding, better at pretending, better at being angry instead of despairing, but his heart was still soft, he still cared so much, right to the end.
> 
> In the beginning... I think he was worse off than me, and I was a basket case my first week. But he never let it stop him doing his job. God, he was so unprepared for the horror of it - we all were when we arrived. No one is prepared for that. For so much blood and so much pain and death. No one is ever ready for it.
> 
> Beej, though - Korea was cruel to him from the start. Before we even got back to Uijeongbu, he saw a bunch of kids wounded and dying and dead from a mortar attack, and had to stop and throw up in front of two guys he just met. And that was after witnessing a father using his daughters as minesweepers, and after getting shot at by a sniper.
> 
> He seemed so young to me then, barely more than a kid himself. That softness, you know? But he's so strong underneath it all. I held out my hand and he took it and we went right back to work. I told him that the worst part was that he'd get used to it all. He did.
> 
> (The day I realised he had, I wanted to cry. Not much could make me cry after a thousand or so years in Korea, but watching BJ grow slowly more jaded... it hurt.)
> 
> That journey would've fucked up anybody, let alone BJ, soft hearted and fresh faced and trying so damn hard to help any way he could. He saw much too much that afternoon. I don't know if I would've coped with that as my first day and only had a little puke to show for it.
> 
> He saved my life, you know that? I know it sounds a little over the top, a little dramatic, but he saved my life. I don't know what I would've done without him after Trapper left. And he didn't have to, no one would've blamed him for not taking me on. He could've decided to keep his nose clean and do what he was told by people the army said were his superiors. (Frank Burns is superior to BJ Hunnicutt the same way a stinking tent in war torn Korea is superior to a cosy little house in Mill Valley.) He could've chosen to make life a bit easier on himself by keeping his distance from the resident loony, but he did the absolute opposite.
> 
> He was friend and comrade and brother in arms, and he held me together and loved me, and I don't know what I would've done without him, Peggy. I really don't. But I'm sure I would never have made it out of Korea, even as torn up and broken as I am. And he keeps on saving me. ~~Even when I wish he wouldn't~~
> 
> I guess I'm kind of a sucker for people who manage to care about me despite all the reasons they shouldn't.
> 
> (Don't tell BJ, but I'm a little in love with you, too, and I've never even met you. It's impossible to love Beej and not love you, not love Erin. Honest to God, I tried. I would've hated you if I could.
> 
> It would've made me feel a little less guilty for loving and lusting after your husband if I could convince myself you didn't care as much as I did, or didn't deserve him, but the sweetness in the letters he read to me, the love Beej has for both of you - it's not something I know from firsthand experience, but it was a beautiful thing to witness, and irresistible to a screwup like me. I love my dad, but it's not like having a wife and a kid. Maybe I'm a little in love with your whole family. Maybe that's what I love, and I'm not really in love with-
> 
> God, no, I can't even lie to myself. I'm very much in love with your husband. Even in a letter that's destined for oblivion, I can't claim any different. I want to be sensible and sane, to write this off as a desire for family, the need to be more than a shellshocked son sponging off of an ageing widower.
> 
> But it would be even more of a lie than when I tell Dad I'm fine and he needn't worry about me. I'm in love with you a little because I'm in love with BJ a lot.)
> 
> I don't know what I want to tell you. It's probably a good thing you won't be getting this letter; you'd think me a crazy man you should avoid at all costs. (You'd be right.) I still don't think I should visit, but being ordered not to... that might finish me off. As much as I keep saying I can't come to San Francisco yet, as much as I keep putting it off and making excuses even after I said I would, I don't know if I'm capable of staying away forever. I wish Beej hadn't made me promise- well. That's my problem, not his, and certainly not yours.
> 
> So it's a good thing for my sanity that I'm getting this out of my system rather than making you realise you should forbid me from coming. One of these days I'll turn up on your doorstep and you'll have the Real Hawkeye Pierce Experience. (And then you'll be glad to see the back of me and pray I never come back.)
> 
> In the meantime, spilling all this out onto paper, it... I think it would be pushing it to say it helps. But it doesn't hurt. It puts the jumble in my head into something concrete, black on white. Maybe that's the best I can hope for right now.
> 
> It stops me from spilling all this out and sending it to you both, which makes me feel a little bit less terrible about the letters I do send. I don't think my letter-writing skills are my strongest suit at the moment, but if you were reading this letter, you'd know it could be a hell of a lot worse, and that the ones I send represent the best of a bad bunch. I don't plan to hurt you or Beej any more if I can help it, or make BJ race here again and leave you and Erin alone just because I'm a mess. That's not fair on any of you, and I can't, I won't do that to you. What I've already done to your family is too much. What I've done to your husband.
> 
> (Why did Beej make me promise? Why?)
> 
> Can you ever forgive me for loving him? For being glad he was there with me when it meant he wasn't with you? I'm sorry, Peg. I'm so sorry. BJ came back to you a different person, and maybe it's paranoia, but I can't help thinking it's all my fault.
> 
> Hawkeye

* * *


	4. BJ to Hawk

> ~~Hawkeye~~  
>  ~~Ben~~  
>  ~~Hawk~~
> 
> I don't even know what to call you any more. Something has gotten hold of me, and all I want to call you is 'mine' - nothing else is good enough. Stupid, huh?
> 
> Speaking of stupid: I feel a fool writing letters to you I've no intention of mailing, but it makes it easier somehow - more real. It's not that I don't want to tell you how I feel so much as I want to make sure you really hear me when I do. I don't think a letter will suffice.
> 
> It's not your fault, but it hurts when I say I love you and can tell by your reaction that you don't understand, don't actually believe me. Don't get that you're one of the most important people in my life, that I carry your letters like I carry pictures of Peggy and Erin, tucked in over my heart because I want to have part of you near me.
> 
> I want so much more for you than to be on the edge, on the outside looking in.
> 
> I want Peg to care about you like I do, not just because I do. I want Erin to know you in person, for you to be part of her life, not Crazy Uncle Benjamin, a man she hears stories about but never meets.
> 
> I love you. I know you think I mean I care about you and want you to be okay, and I do, but I also mean I want to kiss you so much it makes me lightheaded, that holding you close all night and listening to your breathing felt like home the same way Peg does. I mean I want to taste your skin, to slowly remove your clothing, to touch you all over and make you come apart. I want the right to tell you how much I care, to whisper sweet things in your ear and have you listen to me. (I'd like to whisper filthy things too. Somehow I think I'll have an easier job convincing you to let me do that.)
> 
> There are things I don't know, haven't figured out yet. I don't know how this works, how it will go between you and Peg. How I'll deal with it if you two get along the way I think you will. I have both hope and fear. But God, I'm willing to risk it, because - because damnit, Hawk, I love you. I'm in love with you. I don't know how I'm going to convince you of that, but I know I have to, somehow.
> 
> I have to get you here. I don't think there's any chance you'll believe there's room for you in my life, in our lives, until we show you. Until you see for yourself how you fit in, how you belong.
> 
> There's something missing here, Hawkeye, and it's you.
> 
> I hope I'm right to believe we're both on the same page. There's still a part of me so afraid I've got it all wrong. If I tell you how much I want you and you laugh, what the hell will I do, Hawk? I don't want to lose your friendship. I don't want to lose you. I want you deeply entwined in my life so I'll always have you and you'll always have me. I hope you want the same, or at least something close enough I always get to say au revoir instead of goodbye. I hope I'm not screwing everything up.
> 
> But most of all, I want so badly for you to believe me when I tell you I love you.
> 
> Who's tilting at windmills now, huh?
> 
> I love you so much, Hawk. Ben. My Hawkeye. Mine. I hope to hell you love me too. Because I want you to be mine, but I'm already yours.
> 
> Beej

* * *


	5. Hawk to Adelaide

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please note the tags!

> It took me a long time to figure it out, Mom. People don't like to say the word suicide, especially around a kid.
> 
> I knew you'd been sick, I knew things weren't right, but you know Dad. He doesn't know how to talk about stuff, and you weren't there to ask.
> 
> Then you were gone for good.
> 
> For the longest time I thought it must be one of the diseases I found in Dad's books. I diagnosed you with a new illness pretty much every week so I had something to blame for taking you away from me. Cancer was an obvious guess, it was where I started, but I kept researching, kept trying so hard to tie one of them to what I remembered. I gave you 'flu and heart disease and scarlet fever and pneumonia. I tried to figure out if you could've had TB, or if maybe your kidneys gave out, or a whole heap of other ways you could've died.
> 
> It took me a long time to realise it wasn't so simple, years to accept you'd taken your own life. I couldn't understand, I didn't want to believe you chose to leave us. To leave me. Your son. It was incomprehensible you could do that to me.
> 
> I understand much better now, and wish I didn't. (And I've come to realise everyone leaves me in the end.)
> 
> I like to pretend you're out there somewhere. That you understand my anger then and my pain now. I don't really believe it, Mom, but I want to. I really wish I did. At least I understand you now, I guess. I understand how hard it is to keep going for other people, no matter how much you love them, when your soul is in agony.
> 
> Part of me wishes I'd made you promise, like Beej made me promise. Like the unspoken agreement I have with Dad that neither one of us will put the other through that kind of pain again, no matter what. (On better days, I can't fathom the idea of ever doing that to him. On worse days, I almost manage not to care. Almost.)
> 
> Another part rails against those promises. It's not fair of them to put that on me. It's not fair that I have to go on like this because I gave my word. It's not fair, Mom. It's not fair.
> 
> None of it's fair. It's not fair that I lost you. It's not fair that I can't lose myself.
> 
> I love you, Mom. Thanks for listening.
> 
> Benjamin

* * *


	6. Peg to Hawk

> Oh Hawkeye, darling. I'm so torn up about you and about BJ, and I feel so helpless. I can't possibly explain to you; I'm not even sure if I could explain to BJ.
> 
> But maybe writing it down will help me, at least.
> 
> I hope you'll come and visit us soon. I don't think you have any idea how much BJ misses you, how difficult it is for him. How worried and scared he is for you still.
> 
> He half expected to turn up and find... find you'd done something terrible and permanent. He didn't say that to me, not aloud, but I know him. I saw the look in his eyes. The fear. He was so scared and so guilty. So desperately afraid for you.
> 
> I'm sure you have only the smallest idea of how much you mean to him. I wish I'd been able to take a picture before BJ left, so I could compare it to how he looked when he got back. He's still concerned, but he doesn't look haunted like he did. As soon as I saw his face, I knew, I knew you were okay. It was such a relief to him to see you, Hawkeye. He needs you so badly. I should like to have shown you the difference.
> 
> You'd probably find this all very strange. I don't suppose you would realise it's all very strange and new to both of us, too. I never expected us to need someone else the way BJ needs you. The way I need you because you're important to BJ. BJ didn't, either. He was not prepared for Korea, Hawkeye, but he was even less prepared for you.
> 
> Maybe I should be angrier with you, but it's hard to be angry at the man who brought my husband home from that terrible place in one piece. I'm sure you'd say you didn't have much to do with it, or claim it was the other way around, but you didn't spend two years reading letters about how BJ was holding on to his sanity because he had you there, how he thought the entire camp relied on you to keep them going. How much he worried about the pressure on you to keep smiling and keep being strong. How guilty he felt that he couldn't protect you more or better when you'd taken care of him so well.
> 
> So I can't be angry with you, at least most of the time. Or rather, when I am angry, it usually isn't the way you think.
> 
> I'm not angry because BJ loves you (I love you too, much more than you might imagine, and know you far better than you realise), or angry because of how complicated my life might become. I'm angry that you're hurting. I'm furious that you don't know how much you mean to BJ, how much you mean to me. I'm mad ~~as heck~~ as  hell at you for how you scared us both. I'm angry because I saw what the war did to my husband, and you were there longer and without a wife and child to pin your hopes on. I'm angry because I wish I could make it better. I wish you would let us try.
> 
> (I'm not angry that you love him, darling. How could I be? I love him too. He's a very easy man to love.)
> 
> BJ has so much love to give, Hawkeye. He doesn't know how to love with anything less than his whole heart, and the people he loves are so lucky. I want you to know that, not as a theory or a maybe or thinking he loves you as a friend. He does, but it's not the only way he loves you.
> 
> He loves you as a friend, as family, as someone who was at his side during the most difficult part of his life. He loves you as a man who opened your heart to him and let him love you and loved him back. He loves you as a funny, handsome, intelligent person, as someone who fascinates and intrigues him. He loves you as someone he's been aching to touch since the first day he met you. He loves you body and soul, Hawkeye. He will love you any way you'll let him.
> 
> Trust me. I know.
> 
> Sometimes I think maybe he loves you more than he loves me, that what the war forged between you is too strong, too huge, too overwhelming, and I can't possibly compete. That does worry me. I feel a little angry about it, though it's an anger made up of fear more than anything else. Then he looks at me and smiles, or holds me close at night, or kisses me with the same excitement as when we were first dating, and all I want is for you to have that love from him too.
> 
> (I'm... a little scared of it, as well. Because I'm not naïve. I know - I know what it means. What he wants from you and with you. What I think you want from him, even if you don't believe it's a possibility. And when I think about you being with him like that, it frightens me in a way I don't quite understand. It makes my heart pound, and I don't know how to put words around that feeling. It's scary and it's something more, something else. I'm a little terrified of identifying what the something else might be.)
> 
> If you took him from me, then I'd be angry. Then maybe I'd learn to hate you. I'm not sure. And I am afraid, because deciding to let you into our lives, into my life, when I've never even met you? If I were watching from the outside, I'd think the woman who did that was a fool. Was inviting disaster. None of this makes sense if I use logic, if I try and analyse it.
> 
> But somewhere inside me, it fits. It makes sense. It's right. I can't explain it (and that is strange and scary in itself); I just know it's true.
> 
> It's confusing to have so much of my heart bound up in caring for a man I've never met - a virtual stranger, to anyone watching. But I know you so well, Hawkeye. It's entirely natural to love you. I can hardly wait to tell you that in person; I suppose I'll have to be patient, though. BJ needs to convince you first.
> 
> I wish you would just come and visit. I wish you could trust us to look after you, and trust yourself to be looked after. You're hurt, Hawkeye, it doesn't make you bad. Bring yourself to us and let us take the weight off of your shoulders, or at least let us share the burden. We'll do our best to love the war right out of you.
> 
> In the meantime, darling, I will keep you in my thoughts and prayers. And however odd it might seem, I love you very much.
> 
> Peggy

* * *


	7. Hawk to Trap

> Trap,
> 
> Part of me wants to actually write you. Not because I'm mad at you for disappearing on me (though I am some - can you blame me?), but because I missed you, and I still miss you sometimes, and I want to know if you're okay and how life is for you these days. How're your kids? ~~Is your wife still putting up with you?~~
> 
> No, that's not fair. God knows the war was hard and it's not for me to judge how you coped with it. She loved you and you loved her, however it looked to me. I hope you're happy, wherever you are, whoever you're with. If you're still with Louise, I hope it's because you still love each other. If not... I hope you found someone. I hope you still spend time with your kids and play jokes and just... I really hope you're happy.
> 
> So I want to know, I want to write and ask. I've thought about you a lot since I last saw you. Less often these days, not so much because I developed healthy coping mechanisms but because you're no longer my most recent and painful trauma and haven't been for a while.
> 
> I didn't realise it counted as trauma at the time, but you remember Sidney? He's taken on the unenviable task of getting my head screwed on right. He pointed out I have some abandonment issues (shocking, I know), which is one of the reasons I don't do so great when people I care about leave ~~me~~
> 
> It's kind of disturbing isn't it? That a bunch of worse things happening was what helped me get over you? I'm aware it's a terrible way to live, but it's what I had at the time. I'm not entirely stupid... just mostly.
> 
> I'd like to find out how you are. I'd like to buy you a beer, to catch up for a few hours. It would mean so much to me. But if I wrote you and you didn't answer-
> 
> I have BJ now, which helps a whole fucking lot. I don't know what I did to deserve his friendship, and I'm scared shitless he's gonna leave too one of these days, but if it weren't for Beej, I wouldn't be writing this, because I'd be dead. There. I said it.
> 
> There are so many times I would've lost myself if I hadn't had BJ. I don't know what I would've done without him after you left. I was... I was ready to hate him, do you realise? I was so furious that I'd missed you, so furious that this random guy was gonna come along and replace you, replace my best friend, replace the one thing I loved about the whole rotten place.
> 
> I know you don't like to think about that. Which is another reason I can't send this. If I sent it and you ignored me or told me to fuck off or... all the other things I worry you might do, then I just... God, it was hard, okay? I know it was hard for you too. I'm sure you knew on some level that I didn't just like you, that you were more (so much more) than a friend in my eyes.
> 
> I know you tried to ignore it. It was too much. I knew you didn't feel the same way. You never said anything to make me think otherwise. Whatever happened when we were a little too drunk and you missed Louise a little too much wasn't supposed to mean a thing. ~~Even if it meant everything to me~~
> 
> I never thought you were gonna suddenly change your mind and decide okay, maybe I'm a little bent too, maybe that's okay, maybe it's all right if Hawk loves me, maybe it's okay to love him a little. I was never quite that stupid. My eyes were wide open - you don't need to worry. This isn't a diatribe about how you used me. We were friends, and we helped each other, and sometimes we used each other, both of us. You do what you have to in a war zone. But I thought...
> 
> I thought I meant more to you than a kiss on the cheek from Radar before you disappeared forever, okay? Not that it wasn't a sweet goodbye, it was, it was very sweet, it's just... I thought I was worth a little more. A note. A letter. A few lines to let me know you got home safe.
> 
> Something. Anything.
> 
> I want to believe it was all too difficult, too much. I want to believe you didn't realise how much it would hurt. But I'm afraid of proving myself wrong. It would hurt so much worse if it meant nothing to you. If you knew how hard it would hit me and you did it anyway, I'd... I don't know what I'd do. If you just ignored me, like that entire year was nothing, meant nothing, like I didn't even deserve acknowledgement... it wouldn't be good.
> 
> I don't want to go back to that place, Trap. I can't. Other things have hurt me in the meantime, but that doesn't mean it doesn't still hurt - it fucking does. It hurts like hell.
> 
> I told Sidney when we spoke that I'd been writing people instead of talking to people, and he pointed out it's more like I'm writing it down instead of holding it all in. I guess he has a point. It might not be the best way to deal with everything, but it might be better than the 'ignore it and maybe it'll go away' technique I honed over the years. Sometimes I hate Sidney's guts, but it's usually because he's right and I don't want to admit it. It would make more sense to find a therapist nearby, but Sidney knows me, and I'm too damn tired to open up to someone else.
> 
> So this is me, processing out loud. Still missing you, even if it's a lot quieter and less sharp these days. Wishing I knew how things are with you but being way too scared to actually ask.
> 
> I loved you, Trapper. I wish I could've told you that, just once, and known you heard it and didn't hate me for it. I don't think you did, but I wish I knew for sure.
> 
> What else is there to say?
> 
> Yours,
> 
> Hawkeye

* * *


	8. Daniel to Hawk

> My dear Ben,
> 
> I wish I knew how to start this conversation.
> 
> There's so much I want to say, to explain. I want to tell you about Isaac. I want you to tell me about BJ. I want to understand your relationship with him, and to help you. I know very well what it's like to love someone and know that your love is impossible. I want to offer my support and understanding. But I don't know how.
> 
> I'm glad I finally told you about Isaac, but I should like to talk about him properly. I simply don't know how. Maybe if I can write it down, it will become easier to address. When I was a young man, one didn't talk about any of it. These things were private, between a man and a woman (certainly never between two men - no one would ever have admitted such a thing could happen), and not something I ever learned to discuss. I wish I knew how to be more open.
> 
> I loved him - how's that for a way to start? I don't know how it happened. I wasn't expecting it. I wanted to get some college credits that weren't too expensive - well, you know how much medical school costs. I wanted to save a little money where I could.
> 
> It seems fitting that we met in chemistry. Chemistry is a science in the classroom, but it's something else entirely between two people. Mysterious and unpredictable and explosive. I'd never felt it before, not that way.
> 
> At first it was friendship, or so I thought. Both of us a little reserved and bookish, neither one of us quite fitting in. Gravitating irresistibly towards one another.
> 
> One day it was a friendship. The next day, Isaac smiled at me and I thought my heart might beat its way right out of my chest.
> 
> How can I explain it? How can anyone? I fell in love with him by accident, without even knowing I had till his smile made me think I might faint. Even then, it took me a while to admit to myself. The first time I deliberately touched him... it was so wonderful and so terrifying.
> 
> As much as I was frightened when I realised I loved him, I was perhaps even more scared when I found out that he loved me back. It goes without saying that two men could not safely be in a relationship, but many people wouldn't have accepted it even if one of us had been a woman. Living in Maine was scarce insulation against the bigotry that segregated the southern states.
> 
> Even to hold hands with him was a risk, but oh, it was worth it. I had girlfriends in high school (your father was not a completely lame duck in his youth, though I dare say my antics would seem tame to you). I was even convinced that I loved one or two of them. But holding Isaac's hand was more exciting than kissing had ever been until then.
> 
> We kissed once. Only once. On a cold, clear night, not long before we said goodbye.
> 
> I remember every single second.
> 
> I loved him. I loved your mother. I still love them both. (I still love him, Ben. It's taken me years to realise that. Or maybe just to admit it to myself.)
> 
> I wish I knew how to talk to you about this. Because I love you so much, and it hurts to see you in pain. And I wish so very much that I could help.
> 
> Dad

* * *


	9. Hawk to Tommy

> I told Sidney I wrote my mom, Tommy, but I can't bring myself to tell him I'm writing you. I think part of it is that every time I talk about you with someone, talk about what happened, it makes it that much more real. It makes me remember all over again that you're dead, and that I miss you. It stinks.
> 
> The stupid thing is, I took you for granted. I'd been taking you for granted for years. (I comfort myself a little thinking that at least you did the same to me. We both made the same mistake, of thinking we'd always have each other.)
> 
> If you hadn't died on that table, I wouldn't have given you more than a passing thought the rest of the war unless you dropped in to the 4077th again. You were my oldest friend, you knew me better than anyone, but that's how it was for so long I forgot it was even possible to lose you.
> 
> I loved you. I hope you knew that. Not in the hearts and roses way, because it was never really like that with us. It was good, it was always good - the friendship, the love, the camaraderie, the sex - but I'm not fooling myself you were the love of my life. I'm not quite that melodramatic.
> 
> But you knew me, knew so many of my best and worst moments, and you loved me anyway, and I felt the same about you. It was so comfortable to see you, always. I never had to pretend or to be someone or something I wasn't. I liked who I was when you were around. There's something special about that, about a person who brings out something different in you just by being who they are.
> 
> I don't know if you made me better. I do know you made me more me.
> 
> If you hadn't ended up on that table, I would've taken you for granted the next few decades, and one of us would've died (probably of liver failure, knowing you and me), and whoever was left would've made a toast to the other and gone to his funeral and grieved, then moved on.
> 
> But you had to go and die on me in the OR, the place where I'm supposed to excel. You had to be the one I couldn't save. To think you always told me I was the one who thrived on drama! You had to go and pull my heart right out of my chest and break it. Jerk.
> 
> I'll never forget you, Tommy Gillis. I wish it hadn't ended like it did, but I hope you know I loved you - I love you - from the bottom of my alcohol-soaked heart.
> 
> Hawkeye

* * *


	10. BJ to Trap

> It's probably a good thing I don't have an address for you, John McIntyre. I don't even think Hawkeye does, not a reliable one. I'm sure as hell not gonna ask him. 'Hey Hawk, you know your old bunkie? The one before me? Don't suppose you have his address?' I'm not that cruel.
> 
> But I shouldn't send it anyway. It wouldn't be a good idea. Not at all.
> 
> Here's the thing, Trapper: I hate you. And it's probably not fair, because heaven knows I can understand leaping at the chance to go home, even if it meant leaving Hawkeye behind - I did it - but your silence after? God's honest truth, I hate you for that. And the more I love Hawkeye, the more I hate you.
> 
> I don't know what happened, why you didn't write. Part of me desperately wants to know. Part of me is glad I don't.
> 
> Sometimes, when I'm feeling charitable, I imagine you wrote as soon as you got home, and it was unlucky timing, and they returned your mail, told you Hawk died. Maybe you spent the last few years grieving your friend. I guess I could understand then. You don't send letters to someone who's dead. But why didn't you get in contact with his dad? How could you just walk away? Didn't you want to go to his funeral, attend his wake?
> 
> Maybe it hurt too bad. I remember those few hours when I convinced myself he was dead - dead because of me. It hurt like hell. And that was mostly in my head.
> 
> If they told me he was dead, if I wrote to him and my letters were returned with a death notice? I don't know what I would do. I honestly don't. It's unbearable, I can't think about it.
> 
> (I still have nightmares where Daniel Pierce calls me, his voice breaks when he tries to speak, and he doesn't even have to say it aloud. They're the worst kind, because they could all too easily come true.)
> 
> Other times, I think you wanted to forget all about the war, all about Hawkeye, that it was easier to cut him out of your life completely. That Hawk was a bump in the road and you didn't want to be reminded of a man who cared for you so much more than you were ready to deal with. You wanted to go back to your safe little life, no complications, no questions, no Hawkeye.
> 
> He loved you. Did you know that?
> 
> At one remove, damned if I can figure out why. You must've had quite the way about you, McIntyre. If you think I'm jealous- well hell, maybe I am. Maybe if I met you- but having seen the aftermath, it's kind of hard to take on faith. If I didn't want to punch you so bad, maybe I'd see more charm in the tales of Trapper John, would understand better why Hawk loved you, but I don't know if I can get past how much I hate you.
> 
> I say loved, not loves. I don't think he still does, not really. You're a memory to him now, though even after all this time he'll never hear a word against you.
> 
> Maybe you loved him. Maybe that's part of what made it difficult. You loved him, you just couldn't find the words. I understand that too, I guess. I don't think Hawk believes it, but he's a hell of a lot more loveable than he realises.
> 
> I'm the lucky one. I was there, and I became the focus of his enormous capacity for love. (I think. I think he loves me. I hope he loves me like I love him.) So maybe I owe you. Maybe I should be thanking you.
> 
> But you must've known... you must've known he loved you. It was obvious to me that he didn't only miss you as a friend. That you'd been so much more to him than that. Surely you knew, if a stranger could see it.
> 
> Did you sleep with him? Did you sleep with him, knowing he loved you, knowing you were using him? I don't know, and I'm afraid to ask what happened. If I find out you hurt him knowingly, that you used him then left without saying goodbye, never even wrote to him? I don't know if there's anything in existence that will stop me from finding you and ripping you apart. While it would be deeply satisfying, it wouldn't do any good in the long run. Peg and Hawk don't need me to get brought up on assault charges. I can't do that to my daughter. You have kids, right? You must understand. But God, I-
> 
> I know, I know, I'm a hypocrite. I jumped on that chopper without leaving a message, even when it was tearing my heart in two. I didn't want to leave him behind that way, but I still did it.
> 
> So here's the thing: it's not that I don't understand, it's completely the opposite. It's that I get it, that it's too easy to understand. I hate you for what you did to Hawkeye because I hate myself for the very same reason. He keeps saying he's forgiven me for deserting him like that, but I don't know if I'll ever believe it. I may never forgive myself, so is it any wonder I can't forgive you?
> 
> I guess it's for the best that all I can do with this letter is pour out my anger and then throw it away.

* * *


	11. Hawk to Beej

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please note the tags!

> I don't think I should come, Beej. It's not fair on you. I know you think you want me to visit, but you don't know - you can't possibly realise how toxic I am. Me in Korea was a walk in the park compared to me since... I don't think what happened is ever going to leave me alone. No matter what Sidney says, I don't see how a person can get past that. Or maybe someone else could, maybe you could or Sidney could - or my dad. God knows he's been through enough in his time and somehow survived. But Beej, I'm just not strong enough. I'm not.
> 
> It isn't that I don't want to see you again. You've no idea how much it meant to me that you came, or how much better I felt for seeing you. But it's not as if you can come traipsing across a whole continent every time I have a bad day. It would be easier for everyone if you didn't have to think about me at all. If I just disappeared. If I walked out into the ocean and kept going.
> 
> That would be better, I think. If you didn't know what had happened but you could move on - if that was the last gift I could give you.
> 
> Maybe I'll leave a note saying I ran away, like the fucking teenager I am. Just couldn't manage life anymore, so I'm leaving the country and changing my name, please don't try to find me. If I get back on my feet, I'll get in touch.
> 
> Could you forgive that? Could Dad?
> 
> Would you believe it?
> 
> It would be better than worrying. You'd never have to know I took the coward's way out, broke my promise - did the one thing I swore I wouldn't.
> 
> That I irreparably broke Dad's heart.
> 
> He would know, you see. He would see right through me. He sees all the broken pieces like he saw with Mom. I don't think he'd ever forgive me - I wouldn't deserve him to - but some days I almost manage not to care.
> 
> Fuck. Not actively suicidal. It's such a modest goal but it's still so hard.
> 
> Do you see why I can't come? You don't want this in your home, BJ. You don't want all this around your kid.
> 
> And Peggy... God, I don't know how I can face your wife when all I want is to have you for myself. I don't think it's fair on her either. No one should have to welcome a rival into their home. (I call myself a rival as if there's any real rivalry there. Peg has nothing to worry about. Even if I weren't a total wreckage of a man, even if I could bring myself to try and steal you, knowing how much pain I'd cause, even if you weren't straight, it wouldn't be a problem. I'm not that much of a fool. I know how much you love Peggy; so much that you made me love her too. I might as well try to jump over the moon as take you away from her.)
> 
> You shouldn't make your wife and your daughter put up with... this. Me being scared of your kid and jealous of your wife. You all deserve so much more, and no matter what you say, you must know that's true. You must, Beej. I'm sure Peg must know it too. I should just- I should let you all be. Damnit, damnit, damnit.
> 
> Fuck. I can't tell you any of this. I can't explain, I can't even- fuck.
> 
> This is exactly why I shouldn't even write you, let alone visit. I'll just keep hurting you. Why did I flush those pills away? You'd all be so much better off without me. You and Dad and Peg and Erin, you don't need me, and I'm grateful that you're trying to look after me, but it would be better for all of you if I just... vanished.
> 
> Why did you make me promise, BJ? It's not fair. It's just not fair. I don't know how I'm supposed to keep going on crumbs, and I can't ask you for more.
> 
> ~~I hate you~~. I love you, you jerk. How did that happen?

* * *

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Dear Trapper](https://archiveofourown.org/works/16575542) by [onekisstotakewithme](https://archiveofourown.org/users/onekisstotakewithme/pseuds/onekisstotakewithme)




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